Language of Serpents
by Dolosus Vipereus
Summary: He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected.
1. Snake Speak

**_Summary__: _****He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected.****_  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_.  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.****_  
Author's Notes: _This is my first try at a Harry Potter fanfic. I'm not entirely sure where it's going but we'll see how it turns out. Hopefully I will finish it, that's what I'm aiming for anyway but there's always the chance that I'll lose interest. Well, hope you enjoy.**

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Mr. and Mrs. Dursley remembered, quite clearly, the first time Harry Potter had tried to say his first word. It had been a perfectly normal weekend; Petunia and Vernon had been playing with their own son Dudley, leaving young Harry in the play-pin in the corner of the room. Harry Potter had always been a quiet baby, never crying or making fitful noises; it was almost as if he knew that his aunt and uncle didn't want to be bothered by him. So it had been quite a surprise when they heard him try to speak. They had both froze where they sat with Dudley and slowly turned to look at Harry in the play-pin, a mixture of shock and fear on their faces.

They had seen the young child sitting with a small smile on his face mingled with concentration. And then Harry had opened his mouth to try out his new word once more. The Dursley's hadn't known what to think of the sound that had just come from the boys mouth. It had sounded demented and evil to their ears. Inhuman. As soon as they had pulled themselves together, Vernon Dursley walked to Harry and slapped him on his cheek, while Petunia hurriedly picked up Dudley and left the room.

That night, for the first time in a long time, Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had an argument. That had been the first sign of the boys freakishness and they both wanted the boy gone. But Petunia remembered the letter Albus Dumbledore had left her, she knew that if they got rid of the boy he would come to their door, and that was the last thing she wanted. Vernon, on the other hand, wanted that boy out of the house and away from his Dudley so he couldn't taint them with his unnaturalness, no matter what a bloody letter said. In the end though, Vernon had seen the truth of Petunia's words and conceded. They had both agreed on one point though: The boy needed to be kept as separate from them as possible, even while remaining in the same house.

So that night, they had moved the boy into the cupboard under the stairs. Harry had previously had the small room next to Dudley's, the Dursley's grudgingly thinking that it would be fine as long as the boy stayed 'normal,' but that had all quickly changed. They had taken away all the boys play things (what little he had) and moved him into the cupboard with his small mattress and thin sheets. The next day they had fed the boy three small meals which had doubled as the time he got to spend outside his cupboard each day.

After the first two days of this, Harry figured out that his meal times were the only times he would get to spend out of the cupboard and he had begun to fight his aunt or uncle when they would try to force him back inside the cupboard. When he fought Petunia he would be screamed at and smacked until he was back inside the cupboard; but when he fought Vernon, he would stop to beat the boy until he no longer fought as hard as he had. After these sorts of beatings, Harry would be left inside his cupboard crying and letting out strange sibilant whimpers. But he soon learned that even his whimpers would get him yelled at through the cupboard door.

Harry quickly became accustomed to his new living arrangements (lest he be beaten) and when he turned three, Petunia would let him out of the cupboard more often to do small chores around the house. Whenever he spoke though, he would promptly get a smack on the cheek. Harry was glad for the time he spent outside the cupboard and made sure to make his chores last as long as possible without getting in trouble.

By age four, strange things began to happen around Harry. When he was cleaning, places he had already cleaned would become a mess once more whenever he turned his back, unwittingly giving himself more time outside the cupboard. But when petunia noticed that his chores were taking longer to do she would spank him. His chores soon got done even quicker than before and he began to like his cupboard more than outside. Another strange thing was that when he received beatings from Vernon, his uncle would rapidly lose interest and get the boy in his cupboard as soon as possible.

When Harry turned five he got to go to school. Harry had been excited at this; he had never before been allowed to leave the house, except for Dudley's birthdays when he would stay at Mrs. Figg's. Even his uncle's searing words ("Do not _ever_ speak in that school, boy. Don't speak_ anywhere_, _at all._") couldn't dampen his mood. His first day had been awkward but exciting. Since he wasn't allowed to speak he had to try to answer everything with a nod or shake of his head. He was glad to be around so many other kids but soon found out that they would leave him alone after they found that he wouldn't speak to them.

When the teachers had questioned Mr. and Mrs. Dursley about his silence they said he was unable to speak, which was a complete truth in their eyes. But it was when Harry was learning how to write the real trouble began.

He had been copying the alphabet and had thought he was doing a really good job at it too. But at the end of class when Petunia came to get Harry, the teacher asked to speak with them both. Petunia looked apprehensive, wondering what the boy had done while Harry was merely confused.

The teacher took out his paper from earlier, the one he had written the alphabet on and for one moment Harry proudly thought that the teacher was going to show his aunt how well he'd done. But she had laid the paper down in front of Harry, setting beside it a card. She pointed to a letter on his page, the letter A, and asked him if it looked like the letter on the card, also the letter A. He had nodded his head happily and the teacher furrowed her eyebrows in concern and asked if he was sure. Harry knew he had done something wrong now so he carefully looked at his letter A and at the one on the card and back again. His eyes widened when his perfect letter A was suddenly a strange scribbled line on his page.

That night Harry was beaten by his uncle.

Petunia had bought Harry a cheep pair of glasses, the kind you don't need a prescription for and he was forced to wear them to school even though they made his eyesight worse. From then on, he had to look at his writing very carefully to make sure he didn't write the scribbles his hands seemed to want.

Even though there were these drawbacks at school, he still preferred it to home but this soon changed.

It had only been a month, _a mere month_ of mostly peaceful school days. Sure the teachers thought him strange and the kids ignored him cause of his silence but he was still happy. That was, until a group of kids, Dudley included, started to bully him. Their main goal was to make Harry say something, make some sort of noise. The most they ever got out of him though were the strange hissing whimpers. They always bullied him away from the teachers eyes and Harry couldn't tell anyone, so the bullying went on without proper notice. This soon was called 'Harry Hunting.'

It was when he was six years old that things began to change.

It all started when he was in the front yard pulling out the weeds from the garden. He had just been reaching under a tall bush, shaking it in his attempt to get the weed, when he heard an irritated voice.

"_Sstupid human. Just when I had fallen assleep. . ."_

Harry froze suddenly, peering up through the bush where the voice had come from.

"_Hello?"_ He whispered, feeling somewhat foolish.

There was silence and then a bright green head was hanging in front of him. Harry was still as he stared into the brown snake eyes, seeming entranced and fearful at the snakes appearance.

"_You can sspeak?"_ It asked, in seemingly perfect English.

He continued to stare at it in astonished silence before shaking himself.

"_What do you mean I can sspeak when you're the one talking?"_ Harry asked it.

His mind was whirling; a _talking_ snake. It went against everything the Dursley's said, it went against everything 'normal.' But then again, he was the exception to normal wasn't he? He broke from his thoughts at the hissing chuckle from the snake.

"_Little human,"_ it said, _"you think _I_ am the one who can talk to _you_?"_

"_Well, yeah. . ."_ He trailed off when he began to realize something.

He was remembering all the times he had spoken and gotten smacked, the times he had been told not to speak, getting yelled at when whimpers passed his lips. All those times. . . He thought he had been speaking English. But. . . That was just illogical! How could he, Harry, speak to a snake? But then, why wasn't he allowed to talk? His mind circled until the snake spoke again.

"You_, little human, are the one who sspeakss to _me_."_

The snake was telling him the same thing his mind was, but. . . it didn't make any sense! How could he not speak English when he could understand it, grew up listening to it? He concentrated on his voice as he spoke this time.

"_But I'm human, I sspeak Englishh, I -"_

And then he stopped abruptly because he heard it this time. He heard his voice. It still sounded like English to him, but this time it sounded distorted, with hissing, sibilant edges and whispery tones. All this time, how had he not known he was speaking – speaking _snake_ language!?

"_You have deluded yourself, little human." _The snake said. _"But now you ssee truth."_

Indeed he did.

Millions of questions were inside his mind but the most insistent of them was _how?_

"_How can I sspeak to ssnakess?"_ He voiced his question.

"_I do not know, little human."_

He frowned. The snake didn't know how he could speak to it. He sighed as he pushed away his thoughts. He had to finish weeding the garden before his aunt came to get him or she would be mad. He reached for the weed that was under the bush and plucked it from the ground.

"_Why do you do work for the otherss?"_

He pulled his head out from under the bush and sat back on his knees eyeing the snake.

"_I don't have a choice."_ He said as he plucked another weed.

The snake seemed to cock his head as it watched him work.

"_You are not like them. You can make a choice."_

Harry stopped weeding and looked back to the snake. Of course he wasn't like them. He could talk to snakes yet couldn't speak English. They reminded him constantly that he was different, _abnormal._

"_They know I'm different too, remind me of it everyday,"_ he spat.

"_You delude yourself." _The snake said once again.

But before Harry could say anything back or even think the sound of his aunts voice snapped at him.

"What are you doing, boy!? You're not done yet?"

Harry turned to see his aunt looking at him from the driveway. She looked up and down the street to see if anyone was out but seeing no one she walked towards him irritably.

"All you had to do was weed the garden, boy," she said on her way.

Harry knew she was going to hit him. She always did when he took too long or did something wrong, but in a flash of realization he remembered that time when he was five and learning how to write. How he had written his alphabet in squiggles and he had to focus hard on writing the letters properly, even now. So he focused on saying something in English, he focused with all his might to say his words in the language his aunt could understand.

Her hand was just coming down to hit him when he spoke.

"Stop."

The word was said slowly and decisively, low and cold. It felt completely unnatural as his lips formed the word and he grimaced at the feeling of English. But it did it's job.

His aunt was frozen, her hand stopped near his face and her eyes were wide and shocked. Harry looked at her through narrowed eyes before turning to pluck out the last remaining weed and throwing it into the trash bag. He stood up, bag in hand, and focused on English once more.

"I am done."

And then he walked off, leaving his shocked aunt behind.

-

-

-

His uncle beat him again that night. He knew his aunt had told his uncle that he had spoken. Even though it was in English this time he still beat him. Harry was silent throughout it, like he always was, and soon he was thrown back into his cupboard.

As he laid there, keeping his mind from the pain in his stomach and back, he thought back to what the snake had said.

_You delude yourself._

How was he deluding himself? He did as he was told and took the beatings his uncle gave him. He didn't speak (excluding today) and did his best not to be _abnormal_. So what was he deluding himself on?

_You are not like them. You can make a choice._

The snake was right in one respect: he _wasn't_ like them. Not at all. But how could he make a choice? Choices eluded him, his aunt and uncle ripping away any say he could make. After all, what could a six ear old in a cupboard do?

_You delude yourself._

Those words again.

He furrowed his eyebrows and thought hard about what he could be deluding himself on. Was it his inability to make choices?

His eyes were drooping, weary from the beating and he let his eyes slip close and drift into sleep. He didn't notice how the pain was ebbing away as he reached the outskirts of consciousness and didn't think twice when he awoke the next morning with no pain at all.

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**Thanks for reading! The thought of this popped up the other day but I only have a vague abstract idea of where this story _might_ be going. So it's just go with the flow for now. It'd be nice for you to leave a review with your thoughts on the story, but please don't feel like I'm demanding them. Thanks again!**

**EDIT: Just fixed a sentence.  
**


	2. Waiting

**_Summary__: _****He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected.****_  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_.  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.  
_Author's Notes_: Here's the next chapter! Hope you like it!**

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The next day his aunt opened his cupboard door and said three words: "Don't ever speak."

Harry blinked at her, giving no sign of acceptance or not.

After that his aunt acted as if nothing had happened, sending him off to school and them sending him to his chores when he was back. Harry wanted to talk to the snake again but knew he would have to wait a couple more days before he was sent out to tend the garden again.

So he waited two days that seemed to last weeks and finally, he was given the garden chore.

He walked to the front door normally, not letting himself show how excited he was (she probably wouldn't let him out then) and stepped outside. He grabbed the hose and turned it on as he made his way to the garden bed.

"_Hello, little human."_

His eyes darted to the green snake slithering out from underneath a bush.

"_Hello. . ."_

The snake slithered towards him and he sat in the grass as he put the hose in the flower bed, letting it water the dry earth.

"_You sstill delude yourself, little human."_

Harry ignored it's statement saying, _"My name iss Harry."_

The snakes head rose above his knee and cocked it's head.

"_Harry,"_ she said slowly, as if trying it out. _"I don't like it."_

Harry frowned at it.

"_My name iss Ssissla." _She said.

Harry nodded at that as he decided to ask the question that has been bugging him ever since their first meeting.

"_Why do you ssay I delude mysself?"_ He asked her.

The snake eyed him for a moment as if deciding whether or not to tell him.

"_You do not ssee things for what they are."_ She said. _"You. . . delude yourself."_

"_What am I deluding myself about?"_ He asked, trying to get a real answer.

"_I will teach you ssomething, little human, ssomething ssnakess know insstinctively. If you can sspeak like a ssnake you should be able to learn thiss too. . ."_

She trailed off into contemplative silence and he waited until she spoke again.

"_You need to learn to ssee thingss for what they really are, not what they appear to be."_ Sisla spoke abruptly. _"Humanss have blinded themsselvess to the truth of thingss around them, even the truth of themsselvess. You need to open your mind to the thingss around you. Do not trusst merely you eyess and earss, don't ever completely trusst what thingss appear to be. Even your mind can lie to you. . . But you can train your mind to sseek the truth. . . I would have you sstart by looking at yoursself in one of thosse glasses that humanss usse -"_

"_A mirror," _Harry interrupted.

"_Yess, and then open you mind to ssee past what your eyes ssee. Open you mind to the truth, ssee what is in the mirror and only the truth of what'ss there; nothing elsse."_

"_Why should I look at myself in a mirror?"_ Harry wondered.

"_Because it's all around you, little one. I've never seen so much on anything before."_

Harry heard the front door open and he immediately stood, Sisla slithered back under the shadows of the bush.

"Are you done yet, boy?" She asked harshly.

Harry looked to her and nodded once as he retrieved the hose and turned the water off. He was silently relieved that there hadn't been any weeds to pluck.

His aunt sent him off to bathe giving him a five minute time limit. Harry complied, grabbing an oversized outfit from the depths of the cupboard and rushing up the stairs to the the shower. Quickly scrubbing himself clean, making sure to get the dirt out from his fingernails, he dried up and got dressed within the allotted time and nicked a small hand held mirror which he easily hid within the large baggy jeans.

It was off to the cupboard with him after that and he was glad, wanting to try out what Sisla had said, but still wondering what, exactly, it was he was trying to do.

He sat with his back against the door as he took out the mirror and flipped it open he maneuvered himself until his face was in a ray off light floating through the vent on the door. And then he did as the snake had said, studying himself in the mirror. He opened his mind like Sisla had said and thought of seeing the truth.

All he saw was his messy black hair and pale face, luminescent green eyes peering back at him.

He thought harder, telling himself that all he wanted was the truth he wanted to see everything that was true, he didn't want to see lies. The truth and nothing more. He focused on himself for minutes and minutes repeating the mantra in his head, "only the truth," and opened his mind until his head began to hurt and felt as if it were stretching like a rubber band, fixing to snap.

And then, his mind did snap. He felt a pressure in his mind he hadn't known existed lift and there was suddenly a brilliance of color blinding him. He squeezed his eyes shut before slowly opening them again and looked in astonishment at the mirror, at himself.

Green light surrounded him, emerald and shimmering, deep and thick. It was all around him, filled his whole cupboard. He looked at it in awe wondering what it was – but he already knew, the truth presenting itself before the question was formed.

It was power.

This was his power. All those times when the strange things had happened – things in his favor – it had been his power.

He looked around the cupboard, instead of the mirror, and saw in awe all the green. He looked up where the spiders were and saw little rings of purple surrounding them. Smiling brightly he looked back into the mirror at himself when he noticed something.

There was blackish red in his green. It spiraled from him, seeming to twine itself in all of his green. Thin black-red thread, hardly noticeable but laced through everything. He knew it wasn't his. But at the same time it was his. It was everything that was him and it wasn't. He knew it wasn't supposed to be there, that it had been added to his green power, but he knew it should stay. It was twined so deeply with himself that if it was removed, it would ruin him, change him, _kill_ _him_.

-

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-

His aunt, uncle and Dudley – in fact any human other than himself – had a dull gray ring that surrounded them. He knew this used to be their power. Their power was dead. He guessed that it was from not being used.

He wondered why he was the only one with this power – with magic. He hadn't seen anyone else with a colored aura since he had learned to _see. _Everyone he saw had only dull gray rings. But he was different. He was special. He was the only one with this power, the only one who had kept it alive.

He slowly learned to exercise control over his power. He used it to weed the garden, to clean the counters, cook breakfast; there were endless possibilities. His uncle no longer beat him, his aunt no longer slapped him. He spoke in the house in his natural, snake-tongue and they didn't take notice. Dudley no longer bullied him and he and his friends soon grew tired of 'Harry Hunting' finding other things to do.

He still didn't talk in school. He didn't make friends. He didn't want to make friends with the children surrounded by their grey rings. They weren't like him. He was better than them.

Soon, he began to skip school, filling his days with more meaningful studies than math and what not. He didn't need to learn what the others did. All he needed to learn was his power and how to use it.

When he would go back to school after missing for days at a time (his aunt and uncle didn't notice much about him anymore) he would use a useful power on anyone who asked where he had been. He would look them in the eye before opening his mind and shoving it into theirs, creating new memories and thoughts, making it seem as though he hadn't missed any school.

Harry stayed in his cupboard. He didn't want to move back into the small bedroom that used to be his, even though he had the choice to. He liked the darkness of the cupboard, liked the secret, closed space that was his, his alone with no one but the spiders for company.

Sisla lived in the house now. He had let her in the day after he had opened his mind, the day he had taken control. The Dursley's didn't notice the green snake that slithered by their feet or the hissing as she and Harry conversed. It was as if Harry didn't exist.

Harry remembered the day he had rifled through his aunt and uncles minds about his parents. He found out many things that day. First, his mother and father was a witch and wizard, so he wasn't the only one with this power. And another, his parents didn't die in a car crash, but were killed by another wizard. He also saw the memories of when his aunt found him on their doorstep (quite literally, Harry had always thought his aunt was using a figure of speech) and the letter that was with him.

The letter explained how he had to live there due to blood wards, or something, that would keep him safe from the wizard that killed his parents. The letter was almost threatening them when it said they had better take care of Harry. And the person who had written the letter was named Albus Dumbledore.

Harry had felt such a fiery rage at this information. His relatives had lied to him all this time, lied about his parents, about who he was, they even lied about his bloody _scar. _But this Dumbledore person wasn't blameless either, he was the one who left him with these people. Surely there could've been another way to keep him safe?

He still didn't quite know how he got his scar but knew it wasn't from a car crash. He thought about this as he traced his scar, peering at it in the mirror one day. This was the source of the blackish red magic. He eyed the threads of magic that came from his scar and twined itself through his green power. No matter where it came from, it was his now. This blackish magic was what made him different, special.

Years passed in this way. Harry living in the peaceful solitude of his powers, growing in his control and strength. Deceiving the weak humans around him, and waiting.

He didn't know why he still stayed here at the Dursley's, but something told him to stay. Something told him to wait just a little longer. So he waited and he waited. He waited for five years before he found out what he was waiting for.

He had been waiting for a letter.

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**Love it? Hate it? Let me know what you thought! Things get moving in the next chapter so. . . Next time then!**


	3. The Letter

_**Summary:**_**He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected._  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_.  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.****_  
Author's Notes:_ Wow. Can't believe I'm posting another chapter already. Thanks for the reviews too, enjoy!  
**

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"Harry Potter?"

Harry's head swiveled to look at his aunt who had gone to fetch the mail. She was standing there looking down at a letter in her hands. He walked over to her, what had made her say his name? They hardly remember him anymore.

He looked at the letter she held and after a moments pause he snatched it from her, meeting her eyes and saying, "That's mine." She nodded dazedly at him before walking back to the living room.

Harry looked down at the heavy envelope in his hands, made out of thick yellowed parchment. He narrowed his eyes at it when he saw the address.

_Mr. H. Potter_

_The Cupboard under the Stairs_

_4 Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

No one knew he lived in a cupboard. He noticed the faint traces of aura around it, a mixture of different colors, growing fainter with each passing moment. So someone with power sent this.

He turned over the letter and broke the wax seal reading the thick parchment inside. Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry? An acceptance letter?

Under other circumstances he would have thought this fake, a joke. But he knew this was real. He had the power, he knew that the person who sent it had power too, the faint traces still clinging to the paper.

He knew he would go. He wanted to learn how to use his power more. He need to know more, to become powerful. He didn't want to live with these humans, he knew now that this was what he had been waiting all these years for.

He scanned over the list of things he'd need and furrowed his eyebrows as he realized he didn't know where to get any of this.

He got a pen from the kitchen and scribbled on the back of the parchment.

_I accept._

_I do not know where I should buy the necessary books and equipment. If you would please reply explaining where I may buy this I will be sure to be at your school._

_Harry James Potter_

He folded it and put it back into the envelope before realizing he didn't know how to send it back. The post was the obvious answer but the letter had said something else.

_'We await your owl.'_

What did that mean? _Owl?_ Well, he didn't have an owl. But then he thought of something as he looked at the traces of color on the letter, his own green and black now tracing the envelope. Perhaps he could send it back by the aura. Perhaps he could make the letter follow the trail of power back to the sender.

He closed his eyes as he thought to send the letter _back._ Send it back to the sender, follow the aura. He felt the power around him move and he opened his eyes when he heard the 'clink' of the mail slot and his letter gone. Smiling at this accomplishment, he left the house with Sisla coiled around his arm thinking of the letter and the school.

-

-

-

Albus Dumbledore was preparing for the new school year. The letters had already been sent, the professors were arriving at Hogwarts to prepare their class curriculums and stock the classroom supplies. Albus Dumbledore always looked forward to the new school years, but this year was different then the others.

It had already been on the front pages of the Daily Prophet and Witch Weekly, the wizarding world was abuzz with the news: Harry Potter would be attending Hogwarts this year.

Dumbledore couldn't wait to see young Harry as an eleven year old, wondering how he had grown and hoping that the Dursley's had cared for him properly. He was afraid that they may not have treated him their best and thought that he may have to send someone – Hagrid preferably – to get Harry by force.

As they say: Hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

But he was pleasantly surprised when Minerva McGonagall came in his office, brandishing a return letter from Harry himself.

It was short and to the point, saying he accepted and didn't know where to get his school supplies. The Dursley must've been more caring with Harry then he had thought, one of the only ways to send his letter back was by owl; the post would've never worked if they had tried. And he didn't sense any surprise or disbelief in the boys decisive sentences; perhaps Petunia had let him know about magic after all.

So with a small smile he wrote a return letter explaining that a professor would take him to get his school things in a weeks time.

Hagrid was no longer needed to get the boy so he called one of his most trusted professor's to his office.

Severus Snape walked into his office, looking irritated as usual.

Albus knew that Severus didn't like the Potters in the past and would probably treat the boy the same way, but he knew Severus owed a life debt to the boy's father and would die for Harry if he must. Severus knew about the prophecy, knew that Harry must live.

"Lemon drop?" He asked as Severus sat down.

He shook his head once, waiting for him to get to the point.

Eating one of lemon drops himself he began to speak.

"I have received an acceptance letter from Harry, Severus."

Snape didn't show any emotion at this except for a slight twitch of an eyebrow and the barest narrowing of the eyes.

"And why do I care about that _brat_?" He questioned.

"Harry doesn't know where to buy his school things."

Severus scowled at him as he knew where the conversation was going.

"Headmaster," his voice was tight and restrained, "I am _not_ going to take Potter to buy his things."

"But Severus," Albus said, "Your the only one fit for the job. I was going to send Hagrid," he smiled as Severus gave a snort, "to get Harry if there was any trouble but there isn't. It would be best if you took him. I trust you Severus, you will keep him from harm."

"Wouldn't it be better for someone like Minerva to take him?" Severus asked with a sneer.

"No." Albus said decisively. "Only you know just how important it is to keep him from harm. Lilly would want him safe."

Severus was quiet as he tried to stare him down. Albus knew he wouldn't refuse, not after he mentioned Lily, but it was true. Lily would want her child safe and Dumbledore needed the boy watched. He needed to know how the boy acted and this was the best, short of getting the boy himself, of course, but he couldn't do that. He was the Headmaster after all and showing such open interest in any one student was unacceptable.

Severus stood, scowling at him.

"May I leave, Headmaster?" He asked with anger lacing his voice.

"You need to get him at one o'clock, Saturday next week." He said.

Snape nodded tightly and swept out of his office.

-

-

-

Severus Snape could _not_ believe that he was going to accompany Potter – of all people! - to buy his school things.

He honestly didn't understand why Albus would want him to go with Harry, it wasn't like the Dark Lord was around to get him; not yet, anyway. And Merlin forbid if someone were to attack the boy-who-lived on the streets of Diagon Alley. It surely wasn't anything Minerva couldn't handle. But no. Dumbledore thought it should be _him_. And, apparently, he thought Lily would think the same.

"Merlin strike him down," he muttered as he prepared to apparate to Privet Drive.

He sneered as he arrived on the street with a small 'pop'; all the identical houses going on for miles he was sure. The lawns were the same, the brick was the same, you could hardly even tell the difference between their bloody _cars_. In fact, if it wasn't for the numbers marking each house, a _muggle_ wouldn't even be able to tell the difference.

He stalked down the street irritably before he came upon number 4. It was hard to believe the boy-who-bloody-lived was in there. It was just so normal, so boring.

His frown was set as he walked to the door and knocked two precise times. The bloody muggles better not keep him waiting, he thought irritably. But not even three seconds later the door was pulled open, revealing a small, pale boy with a mop a black hair just touching his shoulders.

James, was his first thought, he's like a bloody miniature James.

Then he noticed glowing green eyes peering at him from under black bangs and for a moment he thought he was looking at Lily. Luckily for him, none of his emotions showed. He watched as Potter's eyes flicked to the air beside Severus before coming back to him, smiling slightly.

Snape's frown deepened. What had the boy been looking for, and why was he smiling?

"Are you the professor from Hogwarts?"

Snape blinked at the voice. It was low and slow, each word enunciated precisely. It sounded as if he had trouble speaking and he saw the boy had seemed to concentrate when he spoke. Was Potter touched in the head?

"Professor Severus Snape, Potter." He sneered.

Potter nodded once before opening the door wider and letting him inside. Severus scanned the perfectly clean and impersonal entryway, the only thing showing that someone actually lived here being the pictures of them hanging on the wall. _Them_ being his whale of a uncle and cousin and Petunia. He sneered internally at her picture remembering her from childhood. But there wasn't a picture of Potter anywhere among the numerous picture of his cousin, he noticed briefly.

Severus heard the door shut behind him and Potter's unnatural, precise voice saying, "Prove it."

Severus turned, surprise flitting across his face for an instant. He wasn't expecting that kind of a question, not from a _Potter_.

"Excuse me?" He asked, mostly because he was sure he heard wrong but partly because the boy had seemed to demand it.

"Prove it." He said again in that damned, forced voice.

He scowled as he pulled out his wand, Potter watching in light interest. Using a nonverbal spell fire shot from his wand burning the perfectly white carpet, he had half a mind to let the fire burn down down this damned boring house but just muttered a charm and the fire was gone, leaving the carpet perfectly untouched.

He looked to Potter, but instead of seeing the shocked or surprised expression he thought he would, there was only another small smile and one nod of the head.

"Why do you use a wand, Professor?"

Severus didn't think he would ever become used to Potter's voice. It just sounded wrong coming from the boys mouth, like a barking cat, it just wasn't right.

"We use wands, Potter, because it's almost impossible to perform most magic without one." He sneered down at the boy, trying to make him feel inferior in his lack of knowledge.

But instead his eyes sparkled with something unknown and a small, strange smile appeared on the boys lips. But as soon as it appeared it had gone, leaving Severus to wonder what it had meant.

"Where are your relatives?" He snapped.

"Something about a movie and dinner." The boy seemed to be hiding a grimace as he spoke. Perhaps he noticed the sound of his voice, or maybe it had something to do with the movie and dinner.

Severus wondered why his relatives would be gone the day Harry went to get his school things. But no matter, it made things much easier.

"Then we should go," he said, meaning to get the portkey from his pocket when Potter spoke.

"What about money?"

Severus inwardly cringed at the voice.

"First," Severus snapped, aiming a dark glare at the boy, "You will use Professor when addressing me."

He waited for the boy to flinch under his glare but instead he looked almost _amused_ and only nodded once.

"About money," Severus continued, menacing glare still in place, "You have your own vault at Gringotts, left to you by your parents."

Potter nodded again.

When Snape wasn't bombarded by another question he pulled out a piece of parchment; the portkey.

He held it out for Potter to touch but the boy didn't move, instead eyeing him warily.

"It's a portkey Potter," he sneered. "It's going to take us to Diagon Alley."

Potter looked to him then back to the piece of paper, slowing reaching out to it, touching it with a finger.

With a muttered 'Diagon Alley' the portkey activated, the familiar feeling of a hook pulling him while the world spun. Within a moment it was over and he sneered down at the boy tumbled on the floor.

Potter stood quickly, dusting himself off and glaring at him.

Severus turned and walked out of the building, knowing Potter would follow if he knew what was good for him. Leading Potter through the crowded streets they quickly made their way to the white marble building of Gringotts.

Snape expected Potter to question him about the goblins as the passed through the doors, maybe even ask about the poem, but there was only silence from the boy next to him. This unnerved him; even he hadn't been this quiet when he was first introduced to the wizarding world, and he had known about it before hand.

Walking to a free goblin Severus told it he needed to get money from Potter's safe, presenting the small gold key. The goblin examined it before calling another goblin to take them to the vault.

Severus never did like the cart rides much. All the twists and turns and the scenery passing by too fast to catch a glimpse of. Heart stopping drops and stomach wrenching twists, seemingly almost crashing into stone walls; it wasn't good for him. By the time the ride was over Snape looked a little green and Potter was smiling with windswept hair.

He watched as Potter's eyes widened at the mountains of coins in his vault. Indeed, it made Severus sick that an eleven year old _Potter_ was allowed so much money. Never-the-less the goblin gave Potter a bag and the boy went in to collect as many coins as the bag could hold.

Shortly afterward, they went on another sickening whirl-wind ride and were finally back out in the fresh air of Diagon Alley. Just about to lead the boy off to the first store Potter spoke in his bloody unnatural voice.

"Professor?"

"What is it Potter?" Snape growled at him.

"I want to shop on my own."

Severus glanced at the impassive face. There was no reason not to let the boy shop by himself but Dumbledore specifically told him to watch him. He would follow the boy then. It would make it easier on both of them.

"Be at the Leaky Caldron by four o'clock," he warned the boy.

Potter nodded before walking down the street on his own, not even asking where the Leaky Caldron was. Snape disappeared into the crowd after the boy keeping him in his sight as the boy entered a store.

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**Next chapter's coming soon. Tell me what you think so far, good or bad?**


	4. Another World

_**Summary:**_**He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected._  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_.  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.****_  
Author's Notes: _Here's the next chapter! I hope you all like it! And thanks for the reviews, they were wonderful!_  
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Harry was ecstatic. It was all so surreal, entering this new world. In this world, he had mountains of money and he was almost the same as everyone else. Oh, he was still different, he knew that, and liked it.

Everyone here had a colored aura, that was the first obvious difference. Professor Snape had a deep dark blue, almost black aura, that was what confirmed he was a wizard before he let the man through the door back in Surrey. But Harry's magic was still different. He was the only one that had another color threaded in his power. The only one.

Another difference was that he still had trouble speaking in english. It had been so irritating to speak so much of that language. And he noticed the professor's first expression at his voice. He hadn't asked the professor about his being able to speak to snakes, in the case that it wasn't normal. He decided he would pick up a book about it, if he could.

All the people here wore robes like the professor had been, it was disconcerting, like being in another world, another time. He began to notice just how much he stuck out in the crowd wearing his usual clothes, people would glance at him and his attire. So he found his way to a place that sold wizards robes called Madam Malkin's Robes for all Occasions.

Madam Malkin herself was a squat witch dressed in mauve. She was nice and friendly, helping him get school robes as well as casual and formal robes; if he was going to get robes he would do it right. He vowed that he wouldn't act – or _look –_ like those gray ringed humans anymore, not if he could help it.

Madam Malkin showed him to the back of the store, standing him on a stool next to another boy with sharp, pale features.

"Hogwarts too?" Asked the boy.

Harry nodded, preferring not to speak.

The boy gave him a calculating glance, as if evaluating him and Harry returned it. The boys eyes widened the smallest fraction at Harry's look.

"My Fathers next door buying books and Mothers up the street looking at wands. You do know who my father is don't you?" He asked with a glint in his grey eyes. The boy had a drawling voice he noticed.

"No." Harry answered shortly. The boys father must be an important public figure in this world or the boy wouldn't have asked that.

"Really?" Asked the boy seeming somewhat surprised. "He's Lucius Malfoy, one of the school governors." It was almost as if the boy was threatening him; probably was. If this was true it would be best to stay on this kids good side. "He doesn't think Dumbledore should be headmaster anymore, that he's loosing his touch, but he can't seem to get the other governors to see this, the fools; don't you agree?"

"Hm," Harry hummed in response. All he knew about Dumbledore was that he was the headmaster of Hogwarts; not to mention, the one responsible for his placement at the Dursley's. Well, now the he thought about it Dumbledore's name in the acceptance letter included many titles. He must be more than just the headmaster then.

"Your done," the lady that had been fixing Draco's robes stood, walking to the front of the store with his robes.

"I'll see you at school, then." The boy said as he followed the girl.

Harry was in the store for minutes more – he _was _buying quite a few robes – before he was done. He wore a pair of the casual robes out of the store, it was the one Madam Malkin had chosen for him a green color, she had said it would 'bring out his eyes.'

Feeling much more in place in the crowd now that he had proper clothing he went next door to the book store Flourish and Blotts. Other than the school books he bought a few others. _Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _he found, to his immense surprise, had an entire chapter devoted to him. Why was he in a book? He soon found out though. He was famous for surviving the killing curse, not to mention killing the Dark Lord Voldemort. He was suddenly thankful that his hair covered his scar cause if he was as famous as this book suggested then he shivered to think what would happen should people notice him.

Another book he got was _Hogwarts: a History_. Though the main appeal to it was the history it gave on one of the founders: Salazar Slytherin. He could speak to snakes. That was all it took to get him interested in that book. He bought a few more books, some on the elusive dark arts which snake speak – parseltongue – seemed to be a part of and others about the wizarding world in general like _An Introduction to the Wizarding world: A Muggleborns Perspective_. He also nabbed some extra books on defense against the dark arts, which he thought was rather humorous when he was buying dark art books and all.

He left there with a fair amount of books stuffed in a special kind of bag that could hold twenty books and still be as small as his hand and weigh nothing.

He bought all the other necessary things, not finding too much interest in anything else this early on. Transfiguration and potions seemed interesting, as well as charms but he didn't buy much extra then what was on the list.

The last thing he was to get now was his wand.

As he entered the wand shop he thought of Professor Snape's words. _"We use wands, Potter, because it's almost impossible to perform most magic without one."_ If that was so, how was he able to use his magic without one? This was his differentness again, how he still didn't fit in. He was rather glad he didn't tell the professor that he could use magic without a wand, it would be a useful secret.

"Good Afternoon," a soft voice said, and Harry snapped out of his thoughts.

The man before him was old, wide pale eyes that shone eerily through the gloom of the shop. His aura was like strange white mist hanging around him. He hadn't seen anyones magic look like that until now.

Harry nodded his head to the man.

"Ah, yes," the man said. "I knew I would be seeing you soon Harry Potter. You have your mother's eyes."

Harry narrowed his eyes at the man. "How do you know who I am?"

"There's more to a person than meets the eye," he answered vaguely as he came forward with a tape measure. "Hold out your wand arm." Harry assumed he meant the arm he used most and held out his right.

"I remember when your mother was here buying her first wand." Ollivander said. "Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice for charm work. Your father, on the other hand favored a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. Excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favored it – it's really the wand that chooses the wizard."

Ollivander began to rummage among the shelves of long thin boxes while the tape continued to measure him in the strangest places. Multi-colored strings of magic seeped from each box but one box at the top had strands of swirly red and green magic, immediately reminding Harry of both of his magics.

"That's enough!" He called as he brought one of the boxes, the tape falling to the floor.

"All right, Mr. Potter, try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartsting. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just give it a wave."

Harry took it and felt a feeling of _wrong_ as soon as his fingers touched the wood. But he did as was told and waved it. A vase in the corner promptly shattered.

This seemed to open the flood gates as he tried wand after wand after wand for more than an hour when Ollivander gave a cursory glance to one of the top most boxes. The one that had caught his eye earlier.

"I wonder," he murmured as he grabbed the box. "Unusual combination. Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple."

Harry grasped the wand and immediately knew this was his. His magic buzzed as it smoothly connected with the magic in the wand, flowing through it comfortably. Even though he knew, he waved the wand and it shot out sparks.

"Oh bravo! Yes, very good," Ollivander exclaimed. "But it's curious. . ." The man kept murmuring 'curious' while he took the wand and went to package it.

"Excuse me," Harry forced out. "I would like to carry my wand."

Ollivander glanced him before giving a vague smile. "Of course." He handed his wand back to Harry who pocketed it, keeping the wand in his grasp, feeling his magic purr in contentment.

"It's strange that you are destined for that wand Mr. Potter." Ollivander said abruptly.

Harry cocked his head in question.

"I remember every single wand I've ever sold. It just so happens that the phoenix who's feather reside in your wand gave one other feather. Just one other. It's strange, Mr. Potter, because it's brother – why, it's brother gave you that scar."

He looked at Harry's forehead as if he could see his scar through the hair. Who knows, perhaps he could. He wondered if those words were aimed to scare him, feel somewhat apprehensive. But he didn't. He admitted it _was_ strange but he wouldn't trade this wand for any other. It was _his._

"Thirteen and a half inches. Yew," He continued. "Remember, the wand chooses the wizard. . . I think we can expect great thing from you Mr. Potter. . . After all, He Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things – terrible, yes, but great. . ."

Harry wasn't sure what to think of the man, but he quickly paid for his wand and left the store.

It was nice to be out on the open air after the musty old wand shop and he meant to walk back down the street, back to where he knew the Leaky Caldron must be, but he felt something pull him, something behind him.

He turned slowly, seeing a dark alleyway with a old sign that read 'Knockturn Alley.' There wasn't anyone coming in or out of the alley way and he got the distinct feeling that it was a place you didn't want to be seen in, but the power coming out of there. . .

It was so strong. It was sweet and _dark_ and reminded him of his blackish red magic. It was an irresistible pull that made him take slow steps towards that alley. Looking down the shadowed alley he only saw a couple people who wore black hooded cloaks that hid their faces. These peoples aura were dark, almost black and it reminded him of how Professor Snape's had looked like.

Dark streams of magic seeped from the shop doors and begged him to go there, to taste it, and he began to walk into the alley when he was suddenly grabbed from behind and spun around.

"What do you think your doing Potter!?" The man spat. "Can't you sense a bad place when you see one?"

The only thing that came out of his mouth was, _"I want that power. . ."_ It was a soft, lost voice.

Harry saw the mans face twist into something akin to horror and he shook Harry roughly.

"What did you say Potter!?"

Harry suddenly snapped back out of his daze and realized, too late, that he had spoken in snake language – in parseltongue.

"I said nothing." His forced English this time.

The professor looked at him deadly serious. The professor _knew_ that he had spoken parseltongue. They stood silent and still for a long time before the professor said,"Don't enter this alley _ever again._"

"Are you listening?" He hissed.

Harry nodded quickly and Snape hurriedly lead him from the alley and through the streets of Diagon Alley.

Harry remembered the dark magic that existed in that alleyway, the pull and the _want_ to be part of that darkness, and he promised himself that one day he would.

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Before Snape had left him at the Dursley's (the man seemed to be in quite a hurry since the parseltongue incident) he had asked for directions to get to Diagon Alley from the house.

He remembered the mans dark impassive look before scribbling out the directions on a piece of paper. Before he gave him the directions though the professor had warned him of a few things.

The first was that he was not to perform magic outside of school(unless under life/death situations) and would be expelled should he try. Harry privately dismissed this, as he had gotten away with doing magic for years before now and with a jolt, he had wondered if his wand was somehow monitored.

The second was that he shouldn't wear wizards robes around muggles. Harry also discarded this. The grey-ringed humans wouldn't notice him if he didn't want them to. Besides, he would _never_ go back to dressing like them.

The third was an explanation of how to get onto platform nine and three quarters.

His final warning was hissed. Never enter Knockturn Alley. Harry momentarily wondered what was so bad about the place, it was so _alluring_. But, nevertheless, Harry nodded to this warning for fear of not receiving the directions.

The professor had reluctantly given him the written directions before turning, striding down the street with black robes billowing behind him.

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**So what'd you think? Good, bad or ugly? I know it was just a bunch of shopping and stuff we've all heard before but I couldn't condense it any more than this Dx Personally I kinda like these kinds of scenes. . . Anyway, until next time!**

**_EDIT: _I noticed that the sentence "I want that power," was not in italic for parseltongue. So, Snape doesn't know Harry said that cause it was parseltongue; I hope I didn't confuse everyone.  
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	5. To Hogwarts

_**Summary:**_**He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected._  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_. _This chapter has some dialogue, ect. taken directly from Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone, which I do not own._  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.****_  
Author's Notes: _This chapter is a bit late but I wasn't able to use my computer yesterday, but this chapter is longer than the others. I just wanted to get this out in one go and not stretch it so I hope this chapter isn't _too_ boring ;) Read on!**

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Severus was in a state of shock.

Now, this was a very confusing emotion for him; he hadn't experienced complete and utter shock very much throughout his life, so it took him a moment to get his mind running again. But this boy, this _eleven year old child,_ managed to shake him to his core.

After all, who would have expected the boy-who-lived to speak in parseltongue?

Not to mention Potter had tried to enter Knockturn Alley, and Severus had no idea what brought _that_ on. But that one, unintelligibly hissed sentence had reminded him of the Dark Lord, and for one moment, he had thought the Dark Lord had spoken.

_That_ was what frightened Severus.

But that wasn't even the end of it, when the boy had spoken in the hissed form of parseltongue it didn't even sound strange. Unnerving, yes; alarming, definitely. Yet it had sounded completely _right_, as if the child were born into that language, as if it were natural.

Severus needed to get this child out of Diagon Alley and himself out of Potter's unwelcome company. But more importantly, he needed to report to Albus. This was just the sort of thing the old man would be interested in.

So he got Potter to his house as quickly as possible and, with great reluctance, left the boy directions to Diagon Alley. Warning the boy to _never_ enter Knockturn Alley he had left in haste, apparating out of Little Whinging and outside the gates of Hogwarts.

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In the following month of waiting for September first to roll around Harry had read all of his school books with a fearsome hunger and visited Diagon Alley almost every day.

He had learned – with disappointment and excitement – that parseltongue was a very rare ability so there was hardly anything known about it. It was said that the Salazar Slytherin and his descendants were the _only_ ones with said ability so he assumed that what he was one of his descendants. If what the books said were true how else could he have the ability?

The dark arts themselves were a very interesting subject. They dealt with deeper matters then what his other books did – life and death, for example – and were – unfortunately – illegal.

Harry hadn't once tried to use his wand, to suspicious about it being monitored (like he wanted to be expelled before school had even started). But that didn't stop him from performing magic the way he used to, without a wand. He was happy to know that no one came to his door when he performed magic in this form.

He had learned many things about the wizarding world during this month of exploration. Little things, like the creatures at Gringotts were goblins and the grey-ringed humans were called muggles (he rather liked this term for them). But he also learned more important things. Things about Albus Dumbledore, for instance. He was a man honor, irrefutably against the Dark and seemed to have stood as leader of the Light against Voldemort when he was alive.

Harry found it quite humorous that wizards feared to speak Voldemort's name, even a decade after his death. And lots of people didn't even believe he had died; simply banished in some way, and believing that he would return sooner or later.

He remembered with distaste the one time someone had caught sight of his scar. It was frightening how these people seemed to _worship_ him. Shaking his hand, calling his name, asking for autographs, if he remembered the night Voldemort died, how he thinks he'd done it, if he was excited about going to Hogwarts, where had he been until now. . . It had been utter _madness_. It had taken him at least an hour to escape the crowd through the Leaky Cauldron and into the muggle infested streets.

He had always been very careful after that, making sure his scar stayed hidden and that no one got the chance to make out his face; they _knew _what he looked like now, he had seen his face all over their newspapers.

Absurd, that's what he thought. That so many people glorified him for something he didn't remember doing. An eleven year old _child_ (to their eyes anyway) set upon a pedestal like the paragon of heroics.

He had brought Sisla into Diagon Alley numerous times with him, she stayed out of sight in his robes and they conversed in whispers about the things they saw. He liked bringing her as there was no one to talk to otherwise; he didn't speak to anyone anymore, especially after he had seen the way they acted over his identity. They weren't worth the effort, he thought.

He had also thought about Knockturn Alley. He thought about entering there but instead, he heeded the professor words and only watched it from afar. He could feel the glittering power call to him but he didn't enter. Not to say he hadn't almost walked in there more than once but at the last second he would come back to his senses. Perhaps that was the only thing that truly kept him away; the way he lost his control around that power.

On September first he had his trunk packed, wearing his black school robes with Sisla comfortably wrapped around his arm under the long draping sleeve. The day before he had planted in the Dursley's mind some reason or other to go to Kings Cross station so he sat in the back seat of their car being totally, unknowingly ignored. But that's the way he wanted it, of course.

When they arrived at the station he quickly got out of the car, pulling his trunk from the back of the car and leaving the Dursley's behind as he made his way to the platform.

He found platforms nine and ten and staring at the barrier for a moment – feeling quite foolish – he followed the professor's instructions and ran towards it.

In a wild moment of waiting for a face-full of brick he found himself standing on a different platform with a red steam engine. Looking behind him he saw an iron archway reading _Platform Nine and Three Quarters._

With a short sigh of relief and a small smile he made his way through the platform chock-full of people and cats. Owl hoots could be heard among the chatter of parents and children. Dragging his luggage into the train after him he found an empty compartment towards the end of the train.

Getting settled inside he sat reading a book while Sisla lay curled on his lap, she said it had been getting stuffy inside his sleeve. As the train began to move he glanced out the compartment window seeing all the parents waving at the train, at their children.

And in a minute the train had left the platform behind and was taking them towards Hogwarts.

Abruptly the door to his compartment opened to a red haired boy who stepped into the compartment without asking.

"Anyone sitting there?" He asked, indicating the seat across from him. "Everywhere else is full."

_Now_ he asks.

Harry eyed the boy coolly for a moment before shrugging and going back to his book. It had just occurred to him that he may be speaking English an awful lot at this school, which, really, he should've realized a lot sooner. But he would avoid it to the extreme if he must.

The boy sat across from him and everything was quiet for a moment as he continued reading.

"My names Ron, by the way. Ron Weasley." The boy said.

Harry glanced up at him. He _really_ didn't want the boy to know his name. Should he just stay silent? That would be terribly rude though, not that he cared but he didn't want anyone angry at him just yet.

With an imperceptible sigh he said quietly, forcing the English out of his mouth, "My name is Harry."

The boy, Ron, shuddered at his voice, eyes widening a bit. "Oh," he muttered before suddenly, with a bit of excitement, "You mean Harry _Potter?_"

Ron's eyes glowed a bit and Harry reluctantly nodded once.

"Wow," he breathed. "Do you really have the – you know. . . The _scar_?

Harry narrowed his eyes at Weasley, who had pointed at his forehead. Harry nodded once.

"Can I see?" He asked in excited awe.

"No."

Harry purposely made his English voice colder than it usually was and the red haired boy shrunk back in his seat his eyes wide again.

Harry gave the boy one last glance before going back to his book. They sat in silence for the most part as the train left London and open fields could be seen from the window.

Later a smiling witch selling candies from the trolley came to their compartment and Harry happily bought two of everything as the candy was of things he had never before heard of. Ron Weasley had just muttered something about already having a snack.

Harry tried each of the candies with a smile while Ron looked longingly at the pile of treats. He wasn't going to share if the boy couldn't even _ask_. But then again that might've been Harry's fault for scaring him, but this thought only widened his smile.

As Harry was picking through the Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans a girl with bushy brown hair walked into the compartment (once again, without asking). Trailing behind her was a rather tearful, round faced boy.

"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one." The girl said. She talked in the sort of tone that suggested she knew more than you, thus should listen to her.

"I haven't seen one," Weasley spoke up.

She then looked over to Harry expectantly when she nearly shrieked, "Is that a snake!?"

Harry glanced at Sisla who was slithering among the packages of sweets, then looked at the girl who was pointing at her with wide eyes. Weasley, he noticed, also had wide eyes as he stared at the snake.

Harry nodded slowly and both of their eyes snapped to him.

"You have a bloody _snake_?" The red head exclaimed.

Harry didn't respond as he reached out his hand to Sisla and she slithered up his arm under his cloak and out of sight. Really, Harry thought, it's only a little snake, they didn't have to freak out.

"Why would you have a snake?" Weasley muttered. "Your the boy-who-lived. . ."

Harry had heard that term too many times and shot the boy an icy glare which shut him up nicely. Meanwhile the girl seemed to have forgotten about the snake as she looked at Harry in interest.

"Your Harry Potter?" She asked. "I know all about you, of course," she continued. "I got a few extra books for background reading, and your in _Modern Magical History_ and _The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and _Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_.

Harry looked at her impassively knowing very well that he was in those books and not liking her in the least for pointing that out.

"Do either of you know what house you'll be in?" She changed the topic completely. "I've been asking around and Gryffindor sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn't be bad. . . Anyway, we'd better go and look for Neville's toad. You had better change you know, I expect we'll be there soon.

She directed that last statement at Weasley before she left the compartment taking the tearful boy with her.

Silence reigned in the compartment again as Ron began to change into his robes. Harry wondered why he would even be wearing muggle clothes in the first place.

Harry noticed the red head give fervent glances to the sleeve that Sisla was in. Really, what was so bad about her? When Ron spoke he had a feeling he'd be getting an answer.

"The snake is the sign for Slytherin you know," the boy said darkly. Harry shrugged and the boy continued. "All the Dark wizards get sorted there – it was You-Know-Who's house."

He seemed to be waiting for a reaction from Harry so he just shrugged again. Harry honestly didn't care where Voldemort had been sorted, it's not like it instantly mad that house evil just because he was.

"Why don't you care?" Weasley continued in a confused manner. "Why do you have a snake? Your the Boy-Who-Lived and he killed your parents -"

Harry gave a low hiss in anger and glared at the boy with a vengeance, making him pale beneath his freckles. Satisfied, Harry turned away looking out the window at the passing scenery.

The sky was dark when a voice echoed throughout the train saying, "We will be arriving at Hogwarts in five minutes time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."

Harry patted the pocket on his robes where he kept his wand, assuring himself it was still there and Sisla was sill curled around his wrist. He was kinda annoyed that he hadn't got to speak to her for the whole trip since Weasley had been in here with them. But he was sure he'd find time at the school, somewhere.

The train began to slow before it finally stopped and people pushed their way off the train. Harry was one of the last to get off; he would rather walk off the train instead of be pushed off, thanks.

A loud booming voice spoke over the babble, "Firs' years over here!"

Harry went to the crowd of children standing before the large man. He was a giant, standing nearly twice as tall as a normal man and three times as wide.

They followed the man along a steep path, the darkness seeming to push in on either side of them. As they walked around a bend there was a collective "Oooooh!"

Harry stared in awe at the castle in the distance. There were so many towers and turrets and lights could be seen flickering in the high windows. Harry could see the brilliance of the magic surrounding the castle itself, in glorious hues of blues and purples and every color imaginable.

They were lead to the edge of a black glassy lake lined with small boats.

"No more'n four to a boat," The man called.

Harry sat in one of the boats with three other nondescript people; Harry was glad Weasley wasn't with him.

The fleet of boats moved forward at the giant's command across the lake, approaching the castle until it towered over them. Within minutes they were out of the boats, he thought he heard something about a toad near the front of the group and thought of the round faced boy from the train.

They continued along the shore and up a flight of stairs where they crowded around a large oak door. The man knocked three booming times and the door swung open almost immediately, revealing a tall black haired witch. She looked like a stern person and wore emerald green robes.

"The first year, Professor McGonagall." The man said.

She thanked him and lead them through the doors into an entrance hall bigger than the Dursley's house. She lead them up marble staircases and over stone floors, passed a closed doorway where hundreds of voices could be heard and to the doorway next to it.

"Welcome to Hogwarts," the professor began before explaining a bit about the sorting and houses. Harry only half listened; he had already read it all in _Hogwarts: A History_ after all. And then she left them standing in the room before coming back a few minutes later to collect them – long after the ghost scare which he had rather enjoyed; they were _real_ ghosts.

In single file she lead them into the room they had passed earlier. The Great Hall.

It was far more brilliant than what he had gathered from the book, with shining goblets and plates at each of the four long tables. Thousands of candles floated in the air, lighting up the hall with eery – though bright – flickering light. The ceiling looked identicle to the outside sky so that there might not be a ceiling at all. A long table for the teachers was at the end of the hall and there was a small stool with a ragged old hat sat atop it.

But what caught Harry's eye was the man with long silvered hair and a beard to match. Albus Dumbledore. The headmaster sat in the throne-like chair at the center of the head table. He didn't _look_ bad. He had twinkling blue eyes and a soft smile as he watched the first years enter. His magic was also a sparkly blue, matching perfectly with said eyes.

Speaking of which, those eyes seemed to be searching for something. . . And then they were looking directly into Harry's green. For a moment the headmaster's eyes seemed to dull before gaining it's sparkle back as he smiled directly at Harry. Harry didn't do anything, keeping his face impassive. And then – the sparkle dimming slightly – the headmaster looked away and his eyes floated over the rest of the students.

Harry wondered about this man, who had taken it upon himself to place him with the Dursley's. But he pushed it out of his mind for now, other things were happening.

When they got to the end of the hall everything was silent, everyones attention on the hat. And curiously, the hat twitched and then a tear on the brim seemed to become a mouth as it began to sing.

It sang of the qualities of each house before it fell silent to a round of applause. Harry hadn't given much thought to what house he'd be sorted into but figured he would find out soon enough.

The professor unrolled a long piece of parchment and began to call out names. Each student simply put the hat on and it shouted out their house and that was it.

The bushy brown haired girl, Hermione Granger, got her wish and went off to Gryffindor and later he was surprise to see the boy from Madam Malkin's, Draco Malfoy, who got sorted into Slytherin. There was another long line of kids whom he didn't know who got sorted before his name was called.

"Potter, Harry!"

The hall had grown silent and whispers of the boy-who-lived started all around. He suddenly felt a tad nervous but, nevertheless, he walked up to the stool with all the pride he could muster in this situation, and sat, the hat falling over his eyes.

"_Hm_," said a small voice in his ear and he almost jumped. "_Difficult. Very difficult. A nice hunger for knowledge, and the raw power to use it too. . . You have a strong thirst to prove yourself and there's ambition in there. . . Ah, there's courage. Strong but hidden deep. . . This is interesting. So where should I put you?"_

Harry thought that he should probably go to Slytherin seeing as he could speak to snakes but he let the hat do what it would.

"_Parseltongue, you say? Interesting. . . A very Slytherin ability indeed, but __still. . ._" The hat was silent for a moment. "_Better be _Ravenclaw!" The hat shouted.

Harry set the hat back on the stool and walked calmly to the cheering Ravenclaw table. A few students shook his hand when he passed while others simply gave reassuring glances (not that he _needed_ them) and Harry sat at the end of the table with the other first years.

This was going to draining.

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**So how was it? Not boring I hope? Anyway, the next chapter may take a while because before I write it I just _have_ to figure out what's going to happen. It's so irritating being this clueless about a story I'm writing, so just give me a few days. Please? Anyway, I'll try not to take too long. OH! And for ALL of you Snarry fans out there reading this fic! I have found the best fanfic story I have ever read with Severus/Harry. It stays in character completely and it's sooo good! I am posting the link in my profile right now and I suggest you go there and read it RIGHT NOW! It's that good!**

**Okay. Anyway. Reviews are great and until next time. . .  
**


	6. The Welcoming Feast

_**Summary:**_**He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected._  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_. _This chapter has some dialogue, ect. taken directly from Harry Potter and the Sorcerers Stone, which I do not own._  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, may or may not contain future slash (m/m relationships), rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.  
****_Author's Notes: _Okay, I know this chapter is ridiculously short but it was already taking forever to get this written so. . . here it is. I did figure out a couple things about my story in the time since the last chapter but I'm still not clear on the plot. Still don't have much of a clue as to where it's all leading up to. This still bugs me but I'll just keep writing anyway, I'll know when I get there I guess. Also, I should tell you that updates won't come as quickly as they did before. Hopefully not as long as it took to get this up but still longer than a day or so.**

**Okay. Read and enjoy!  
**

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Albus watched as young Harry calmly sat at the Ravenclaw table. He had expected the boy to be sorted into Gryffindor like his parents, but that had been before he had seen the boy with his own eyes.

He had listened to Severus' short recount of his trip to Diagon Alley, of course. The things of note had been Harry's want to shop alone and the startling revelation that Harry could speak in parseltongue. The latter could be easily explained, having gained the power through his scar. But wanting to shop alone gave an unnerving reminder to another such boy. . .

Severus had also mentioned how Harry had nearly entered Knockturn Alley but this didn't concern him much, after all, the boy was new to the wizarding world and didn't know of the places he shouldn't enter.

But none of that had dampened his spirit. He still believed he had done right by leaving the boy with his relatives and that he had grown up the best way possible; not knowing of his fame or about Voldemort. He believed the boy would be appreciative of magic in ways children raised in the wizarding world couldn't. Believed that he would be so much like James and Lily and welcomed into Gryffindor with open arms.

The moment he had seen the boy enter he Great Hall with the other first years he began to doubt his thoughts.

The first thing he noted was that Harry looked just like James, albeit his hair was longer. The boy walked calmly and looked around the Great Hall like the others but his expression didn't betray much which already had the Headmaster worrying. Harry's eyes had moved towards the head table and caught Albus's gaze.

Albus had felt his eyes dim as he saw the luminescent green ones, the same color as Lily's. But these were not Lily's eyes. His gaze was sharp and calculating and cold. He smiled at Harry, feeling his eyes regain their sparkle but Harry didn't smile back. He had remained expressionless.

It was at this point that he knew beyond a shadow of doubt that his plans didn't go as expected. He had made mistakes that had made Harry cold instead of forgiving, guarded instead of friendly.

And then the boy had been sorted into Ravenclaw, not that he had thought Gryffindor had a chance at that point. Ravenclaw wasn't a bad house, filled with those who wanted to learn, but it wouldn't be what Gryffindor was. Ravenclaw was a mix of Light and Dark wizards whereas Gryffindor was supremely Light, the best environment.

The Headmaster sighed as the sorting ended and he stood to welcome the students, trying to keep the sense of déjà vu at bay.

-

-

-

There were whispers about him everywhere, heard from every end of the Great Hall. About how the _The-Boy-Who-Lived _was sorted into Ravenclaw. About how _Harry Potter_ would fair in school. And _did he really defeat You-Know-Who?_

Harry gritted his teeth as he put food onto his bronze plate. The other Ravenclaws, whether they be first year or seventh, kept casting quick curious glances at him. He ignored them as he ate.

Surreptitiously, he watched the students around him, each of them having a different colored aura. Looking to the head table he saw the Headmaster talking to Professor Snape. His eyes passed over the other professors; there was the large man, Hagrid he recalled, seated next to Professor McGonagall. There were many other professors that he didn't know, one of which looked reminiscent of the goblins at Gringotts, but the one that caught his eye was a nervous looking man wearing a ridiculous purple turban.

The man looked scared out of his wits as Professor Snape turned to engage him in conversation. But what had called attention to this man was not his actions or his attire. It was his _magic._

The kind of magic he had never seen on anyone before. The kind of magic he thought only himself possessed. That mans magic had two colors.

The more dominant color was a muddy brown that hovered around the man but then there was black that seemed to be leaching the other color away. It didn't weave gracefully into the professor's magic like Harry's did, instead it seemed to. . . smother it. Trying to anyway.

And then the man turned his head so Harry was looking more at the back of the turban instead of his face, and Harry stiffened as a sudden pain shot through his head, his _scar_. He looked away from the head table back at his food feeling a bit sick now.

"That's the new Defense teacher, Professor Quirrell."

Harry looked up at an older boy sitting across from him. He had honey brown hair that brushed his shoulders and dull brown eyes, and had obviously noticed Harry watching the professor.

Harry almost said something before realizing that it would have come out in parseltongue and he wasn't in the mood to force english, so he merely nodded to the other boy.

"I'm Roger Davies, by the way," he continued, obviously trying to cajole Harry into conversation. His eyes flicked back to Roger and he nodded again.

He was mulling over what had just happened; his scar hadn't _ever_ hurt before. And now, after ten years, it decided to give a twinge of pain when he looked at the back of a professors – Professor Quirrell's – head.

But he wasn't left to his thoughts for long as the Davies boy said, "That professor there," he pointed to goblin-esque professor, "is our head of house, Professor Flitwick."

Harry cocked his head in a silent urge to continue, allowing himself to be pulled into the conversation – one-sided though it would be.

Roger obliged continuing with, "Professor Mcgonagall is the head for Gryffindor and Professor Sprout is the head for Hufflepuff," he indicated a dumpy little witch. "Professor Snape," he had a dark look on his face as he looked at the Professor, "is the head of Slytherin."

Harry nodded in understanding as he glanced to each professor and their respective houses. Harry had a bit of trouble picturing Professor McGonagall as head of Gryffindor though; he couldn't imagine how someone so strict and severe looking could be head of that loud, boisterous table.

When his eyes moved to Professor Snape he caught the man glaring at him. Harry raised his eyebrows at the man, _why_ did the professor dislike him so much? After a moment of silent staring – glaring on the older mans part – the professor looked away.

"I've heard that Professor Snape can get really nasty," the boy next to him piped up.

Harry turned to the boy. He had short brown hair and the same color eyes, his aura was a glimmering hazel. As Harry met the boys eyes he flushed briefly in apparent embarrassment before looking away and muttering, "My names Terry Boot." Harry nodded at Terry, still refusing to speak. At this point many people were watching him as if waiting for him to speak. They better not hold their breath.

People kept trying to talk to him after that but he never spoke so they always ended their 'conversation' with him in awkward silence. It was often amusing to watch their expressions when he didn't answer their questions; they would range from confused embarrassment to outright anger.

When dessert disappeared – and he had _just_ been eating the apple pie – the Headmaster stood and the Great Hall fell silent.

"Ahem," the Headmaster began. "Just a few more words now that we are all fed and watered. I have a few start-of-term notices to give you. First years should note that the forest on the grounds is forbidden to all pupils. And a few of our older students would do well to remember that as well." Dumbledore's eyes flashed to the Gryffindor table here.

"I have also been asked by Mr. Filch, the caretaker, to remind you that no magic should be used between classes in the corridors. Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of term. Anyone interested in playing for their house teams should contact Madam Hooch."

"And finally, I must tell you that this year, the third floor corridor on the right hand side is out of bounds to everyone who does not wish to die a very painful death." Muttering broke out at this proclamation. What was in the third floor corridor that was so dangerous?

"And now, bedtime," The Headmaster announced. "Off you trot!"

All the first years followed one of the prefects, Penelope Clearwater, through the castle. Up moving staircases, through empty corridors, passed the library. They kept going up and up, higher in the castle until the reached a spiral staircase that rose in tight, dizzying circles.

The way to enter wasn't what Harry had expected. The door was made of aged wood and there was a bronze, eagle shaped knocker. You knock once and the eagle asks you a question. If you get it right the door opens; get it wrong and you have to wait for someone who can answer it.

Personally, Harry wasn't too fond of such an unreliable entrance way; _anyone_ could get in if they knew the answer and what was the point in _that_?

The common room was impressive. It was wide and circular with gracefully arched windows viewing the surrounding mountains. The walls were hung with blue and bronze silks and a domed ceiling rose above dotted with stars, lush midnight carpet lined the floors. Elaborate wood tables and high-backed chairs sat with bookcases filled with thick tomes and candles seemed to be lit on every available surface.

Across the room in a niche was a tall marble statue of a beautiful, yet intimidating, woman who wore a delicate circlet. A knowing smile sat on her lips and it almost felt as if the statue were watching them.

"The boys dormitory is one the left," Clearwater said, indicating a door next to the statue, "And the girls on the right."

All the first years trooped up to bed, some of them so tired they stumbled on the stairs.

The dormitories seemed to echo the common room with the blue carpet and starry ceiling but it was more closed in while the common room was. . . airy.

Harry and four other boys entered their dormitory and found the beds with their trunks at the ends. Harry carefully let Sisla slither beneath the covers of the bed before he changed into his pajamas and climbed into the bed, pulling the bronze hangings around his bed shut.

He wanted to talk to Sisla about things – about everything – but he was so tired, his eyes were already drifting shut. The last thing he heard was Sisla slithering up beside the pillow before he fell asleep.

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**I honestly hope that didn't bore you and hope your not annoyed by how short it is. I _know_ the thing was short and apologize. . . Anyway, review if you like, they're always nice!**


	7. Friend?

_**Summary:**_**He speaks in hisses and writes in squiggles without a second thought, English unnatural coming from his quill or mouth. Snakes are his brethren and the Dark his lusting pursuit. When he enters the wizarding world, he is far from what they expected._  
Disclaimer_: I do not own the Harry Potter series. The characters, places, objects, ect. are owned by J. K. Rowling and other associated parties_.__  
Warnings: _Possible spoilers for all seven books, rating may be M in the future, darkish Harry, powerful Harry, child abuse/neglect.  
****_Author's Notes: _Sorry for another long wait. The chapter is longer than the last but still not as long as I'd like. . . Another thing. I've decided this story will not involve slash. Some of you mentioned that in your comments so you shouldn't have to worry anymore. This story is going to be (I hope) more plot oriented than anything else.**

**Thank you all, readers, for your reviews. Whether the reviews are critical, praising, or just chock full of questions, they all raise my spirits :D**

**Now, read!  
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"_Wake up. Wake up Little Human."_

Harry's eyes blinked open and blearily looked into beady brown ones.

"_The other humanss are waking."_ Sisla explained and Harry slowly sat up rubbing at his eyes.

If there was one thing he wasn't, a morning person was it. He could remember the times when his relatives woke him at the ungodly hours of the mornings, either to cook, clean or for school. He supposed that his magic had spoilt him in that respect; he hadn't had to wake up so early in _years_.

But, nevertheless, he stood and whispered for Sisla to stay out of sight for the day. He really wondered when he would get to talk to her. He supposed tonight they could speak.

And then he wondered what the day would be like as he lethargically and numbly moved through the motions of showering and dressing. It almost felt like he was floating until he sat down at the Ravenclaw table in the Great Hall and the smell of food hit him. He distantly realized he didn't remember walking there and marveled, dimly, at not getting lost as he piled food onto his plate.

He was completely awake once he had eaten a few bites of sausage and noted Terry Boot sitting next to him again. Thankfully the boy didn't speak, but as more people came down the louder the Great Hall got until it seemed to be a dull roar.

Harry was nibbling on some bacon trying to ignore all the noise – _why_ did they have to be so _loud?_ - when a small stack of parchment was passed to him by Boot. He took the papers curiously seeing that they were schedules for the week. He passed the rest of the pile to whoever was sitting next to him as he looked over the classes for the day.

History of Magic with the Gryffindors was first and then double Herbology with the Slytherins before Lunch. After that was double Charms with the Gryffindors again.

Harry was looking forward to Charms; it sounded to be the only class where they'd use their wands that day. And Harry was wanting to finally try out his wand, he hadn't gotten to use it yet due to it being illegal outside of school.

The first years began to eagerly leave the table to head for history class, obviously excited for their first class. But Harry, along with all of the other first years, were sorely disappointed.

The only interesting thing about the class had been the teacher being a ghost. Otherwise it was dreadfully boring, Professor Binns droning on and on about Uric the Oddball and something-or-other. A bunch of the students fell asleep, very few opting to take notes.

Next was herbology which was a _lot_ more interesting than history, not that _that_ said much. The class was basically an introduction to the field so there wasn't anything really exiting. He also noticed that the Slytherins didn't like him much if their sneers were anything to go by.

After sitting on the hard earth while listening to Professor Sprout chatter away about her plants for two hours, he was rather anxious to get to lunch and when he sat down at the long table in the Great Hall Terry Boot sat next to him. Again. Harry frowned slightly while he ate. The boy had sat next to him at every meal so far and was now chattering about something that Professor Sprout had said.

A while later he was sitting in the charms classroom among the Gryffindors. He saw Ron Weasley smile at him from across the room, obviously he hadn't gotten the slip. The Gryffindors were a rather loud group despite being in a classroom and Harry saw the difference between Gryffindor and Slytherin like night and day; no wonder they had such a rivalry. The class started with a roll call and when Professor Flitwick got to Harry's name he squeaked and fell off his stack of books. This immediately made Harry annoyed at the Professor, at his fame and the wizarding world in general. Harry was disappointed because they hadn't used their wands, only talking about spells in general.

By the end of the day, they already had a sizable amount of homework to do and most of the first years – being Ravenclaws he supposed – headed down to the library to get started on it. Harry was one of the few that didn't go instead heading for Ravenclaw Tower.

It was a long walk with many staircases and long corridors but it definitely wasn't uneventful. He got lost twice by taking a wrong turn and ran into Peeves who threw things at him cackling loudly – he could still hear wringing in his ears; but he finally made it to the right tower and went straight to the dormitory.

Thankfully there was no one in there so Harry walked to his bed and sat down heavily with a sigh. The day hadn't really been tiring or anything, he just wasn't used to it. Usually he spent his days doing whatever he wanted and using his own brand of magic, while here there were teachers and rules and having to learn a different kind of magic.

And they always used wands. Why didn't they use magic the way he did? Harry thought it was severely limiting to restrain yourself to words and wands. Not that he wanted to give up his wand, he thought as he grasped it in his pocket, but in dire situations when you didn't have a wand you should still be able to protect yourself.

But maybe he was getting ahead of himself. He hadn't taken all the classes here yet and there was the library he could explore. His mind itched at the thought of the library and all of the knowledge it could hold and he wanted to suddenly go there, but first he needed to talk to Sisla.

Glancing around the dormitory again he whispered, _"Ssissla?"_

A few moment later he heard a quiet gliding sound like paper across carpet and something slid onto his shoe. Jerking in surprise he looked down at Sisla's beady eyes and reached down for her to coil around his arm. A feeling of calmness settled over Harry as he watched the snake, his mind seeming to feel a bit lighter than before. He would _finally_ get to talk to Sisla after so long.

"_Little Human,"_ she greeted, flicking her tongue._ "Where have you been?"_

"_You know where I've been; classess."_

She seemed to give a small hiss of disapproval at that. _"I didn't know they would take sso long. I'm going with you tomorrow."_

Harry blinked at her. _"You can't go, I don't even know if they allow ssnakess in Hogwartss -"_

"_That redhead had a rat. That wassn't on the list of approved petss, wass it?"_

"_Weasley from the train? He had a _rat_?"_ Harry asked in surprise. Who would want a _rat_?

"_Yess. If he'ss allowed a rat then I'm allowed too."_

Harry smiled at her hearing disdain in her voice about the rat. _"I won't be able to talk to you of coursse but I ssuposse you could come. . ."_

"_Like you could've stopped me from coming anyway," _Sisla said contemptuously and Harry laughed out loud.

"_Stubborn snake,"_ he muttered affectionately, before he filled her in on his day. On his thoughts of other people, how irritating it was to be silent all day, how they were supposed to learn magic through a wand. Which brought him back to his earlier thoughts.

"_I want to go to the library."_ He announced abruptly. _"I've got to ssee if we'll learn any wandlesss magic."_

"_I'm coming with you."_ Sisla answered decisively.

"_Well then, you need to sstay out of ssight."_ Even as he said this she was already slithering beneath the sleeve of his cloak and curling around his arm comfortably. Really, he should've let her come with him to classes earlier, it would've been loads better than it had been.

He grabbed parchment, quills and school books – for his homework and then left the dormitory. The library was easy to find, it wasn't very far from Ravenclaw Tower (no wonder) so he didn't get lost.

As he walked into the library he was met with the sight of shelves upon shelves of books that stretched deep into a seemingly endless room, almost appearing to be a maze instead of a library and before long, Harry found himself deep within the labyrinth searching for books about using magic with and without wands.

And he wasn't disappointed. They had shelf upon shelf of wandless theory, magical theory, accidental magic and more. Harry took his time choosing the books before taking as many as he could carry.

In what he supposed to be the middle of the library there was a large space scattered with tables and chairs where other students sat over large tomes scribbling on scraps of parchment. Harry found a table at the edge of the sitting area, book cases behind him and far away from everyone else.

Just as he was opening one of the larger books on wandless magic he caught the swish of black robes coming towards him and looked up to see Terry Boot – who else? – walking towards him. The boy had his rucksack slung over his shoulders and a somewhat determined look on his face.

Harry looked at him inscrutably when Boot stopped in front his table before raising his eyebrows at the boy. _Why_ was Boot here? _Why_ did Boot sit next to him at meals? _What_ was the boy up to?

"Mind if I sit here to study?" He finally asked.

A moment of silence passed – nervous silence on Boot's part – before Harry nodded his head once and turned back to his book. He would find out what Boot wanted then. Maybe he just wanted to try to befriend the Boy-Who-Lived or some such nonsense.

Whatever it may be, Boot quietly sat down across from him and spread out his homework on the table before beginning to study. It was strange, Harry thought half an hour later. Boot hadn't said more than a word since he'd sat down, only quietly studying like Harry was. No silly questions or small talk of any kind, just companionable silence.

Harry had otherwise devoured as much of his books as possible. He had realized fairly quickly that there wasn't even a sliver of a chance that wandless magic would be taught throughout his schooling here, because it was nigh impossible to perform wandless magic unless powered by violent emotions. The most common form of this sort of magic was the accidental magic that magical children manifested. Even then it was usually powered by strong emotions such as fear or anger. These magical displays became mostly nonexistent once they started learning to use their magic. With wands.

When wandless magic was performed by older wizards it wasn't intentional and happened in dire, desperate situations when emotions were on high (much the same to children's accidental magic). A bare few could perform wandless magic intentionally outside of such situations. The book he was reading had first mentioned Merlin, the most powerful known wizard to date. Then it had moved on to Morgana, the founders of Hogwarts, Grindelwald and Dumbledore (much to Harry's dismay). Voldemort had also been mentioned but there was no proof whether or not he could perform wandless magic.

Harry had learned that he was, once again, different. He didn't have to be in various states of distress to do wandless magic, though he supposed it may have started out that way. He just – did it. Another thing that caught his attention was the mention of accidental magic disappearing once wands started to be used. Harry thought that if he began to use his wand more often than not, he would begin to lose his wandless abilities. He would have to keep an eye on that.

When Harry next looked up from his books the library had a lot less people than when he first entered and knew it must be getting late. Terry Boot still sat across from him but it looked like he was just finishing his homework. Suddenly remembering his homework, Harry closed the books on wandless magic and began on his history work. He at least had to finish that since he had that class tomorrow, again.

Boot looked up then, catching Harry's eye and then raising his eyebrows at his not-started homework.

"You haven't started on your homework yet?" He asked unnecessarily.

Harry blinked at him impassively. The boy had only been sitting there fore the last hour or so; he _had_ to have noticed Harry reading those other books. But apparently not as the boy seemed to be waiting for some kind of answer.

Harry just shrugged and nodded to the stack of books by his elbow, chock full of wandless magical theory. Boot glanced at the books and cocked his head slightly.

"Wandless theory? What're you studying that for?"

As if the boy was going to get a verbal answer. Harry shrugged again.

They sunk back into silence as Harry started on his history essay and Boot looked back over some of his homework appearing thoughtful. The silence didn't last long though as Boot looked back up with a slightly determined expression.

"How come you don't talk?" Confusion and curiosity colored his voice.

Harry's quill stilled before he looked up (quills had taken some getting used to), a speculative expression upon his face. Harry didn't know Boot all that well and couldn't just say, "Cause I like parseltongue better." Best not to share that information at all if he could help it, it was bad enough Professor Snape knew.

But perhaps he could say _something_. Let the boy know he just didn't like to speak. He was pretty sure everyone thought it was more than that so it may be best to let someone know it was simple aversion to speaking. In english anyway.

But why tell Boot anything in the first place? He didn't particularly want to know the boy. '_What's wrong with friends?'_ Some voice spoke up in him. And, indeed, what was wrong with that? He hadn't ever had friends before. _"Friends are a liability. Backstabbers."_ Another part of him hissed fiercely. That was also true. Friends could betray, hinder, make you weak._ "That's why there's trust."_ The first voice said again. _"Trust is for fools,"_ the second voice spat. _"You can't rely on something so abstract."_

Harry realized he had been quiet for some time and silenced his warring mind, coming to a decision.

"I don't like talking."

His voice was quiet and precise; unnatural like always. But Harry had made a decision. He would try to make a friend and if it backfired he would never do it again. Not to mention, he _did_ need to speak in english a bit more than he did. He would have to talk to humans at _some_ point, whether that be answering a question in class or having casual conversation.

Boot blinked in surprise and his eyebrows raised the slightest bit. Harry expected to be questioned on why his voice was so strange next but to his relieved bemusement Boot just nodded. "Er, all right, then." He said, equally quiet.

Harry quickly finished his history homework and they headed back up to the tower together without another word.

* * *

**I hope you enjoyed this chapter! I enjoyed writing it despite how long it took. Let me know what your thoughts are, whether they're good or bad. Thanks for reading this far!**


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